


Burying the Hatchet

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, ignore all hetero canon, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: Heather and Leanne run into each other after their little altercation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So listen, I've been watching this show since day 1 and it's kind of sad there is next to 0 femslash for it, especially sad that there is so little Leanne Rorish femslash. Like. Her nickname is "Daddy" you guys. Come on. This was just for fun. I may write some more for this fandom but we'll see.

Heather doesn’t spot Leanne until she’s at the bar. It’s too late to duck out by the time it happens and the other woman sees her, their eyes locking in that awkward, unintentional way these things sometimes happen. She doesn’t know if she should smile politely like a normal person, except she’s just yelled at the woman a few hours ago and she doesn’t really feel like smiling politely because she was right and Leanne Rorish, whether she likes it or not, was wrong. She’s thinking too much, taking to long to react, she’s probably scowling—she guesses as much when Leanne grimaces where she’s sitting at the far end of the bar.

 

Whatever. She goes with an eye roll and takes a seat. She’s been coming to this bar since she moved to Silverlake, she’s not about to stop now just because _Daddy_ felt like a drink.

 

She orders a Vodka tonic as the seat beside her vacates and someone else takes it. Some guy with dreadlocks and Trident breath leans in says, “Hey.”

 

“No,” she cuts in before he can say anything else. The guy leaves and she sighs, craning her neck one way then the other, knowing fully well some of that tension on her shoulders is due to the nerve-wrecking awareness of Leanne Rorish. She hates to admit it but the woman knows how to command a room, even when she’s not really trying. Heather likes to think someday she’ll be able to do that too—fear is the best motivator.

 

Her drink arrives, and so does Leanne Rorish, sliding in right beside her.

 

“The way I see it, we’ve got two options,” Leanne says, “I can go back over there, we can pretend we don’t see each other, ignore the elephant in the room, let our ice melt in our drinks, or we can bury the hatchet and have a decent break from work like two well adjusted adults. What do you say, Dr. Pinkney?”

 

Heather squeezes the lemon sliver into her drink, swirls it round in the icy vodka and drops it before taking a sip. She smacks her lips together and shrugs, “Hatchet.”

 

“Okay,” Leanne says, barely signals at one of the bar tenders, immediately gets his attention and orders two shots of Patron. “Take your time.”

 

Heather looks at the older woman now, is taken aback for a second at how great she looks with her hair down, and glares, “Are you going to apologize?”

 

Leanne chuckles, shakes her head, or stupid silky hair looking annoyingly perfect, “Heather, I’m your superior. You do realize you don’t go into training knowing everything, right? I know you think you do, but you don’t. You have to actually _do_ the training.”

 

“I did the right thing and you know it.”

 

“I don’t care! I’m not doing you any favors by letting shit slide and you’ll understand that someday. There’s a certain amount of ego required to do this job, we all have it, after all, there’s a reason you’re in surgery, but there’s also something you need and it doesn’t come with ego, it’s something you learn, and that’s just a little bit of—draw-back, just enough to give you pause when you need it. I’m not trying to subdue you; I’m trying to help you. I already know you’re good, you know you’re good. And you may not agree with me, but I am telling you this will someday be useful to you. You can hate me for it now if you want but ten, fifteen years from now, you’re going thank me.”

 

There’s a pause as Marvin Gaye begins to play and Heather downs her drink in one gulp, remembering the first time she saw Leanne Rorish, noting the older woman’s good looks, not hard to do, she’s a beautiful woman, but Heather does not forgive easily and she doesn’t take kindly to being reprimanded in front of her colleagues. She also realizes Leanne isn’t asking for forgiveness and that makes Heather both respect and abhor the woman. Ego is a complicated thing.

 

“So, what’s it going to be? Hatchet?” Leanne pushes a double shot in front of heather and waits.

 

Heather lifts the glass, clinks it to Leanne’s and says, “I’ll bury the hatchet, but I can’t promise not to dig it up from time to time.”

 

Leanne laughs, lifts her glass, “Works for me”

 

They sit in silence, music and the crowd providing enough sound around them to make the situation bearable if not comfortable.

 

After a while, Leanne is gently bobbing her head to the music, and she’s resumed sipping the drink she carried over. Heather is feeling the warmth of the tequila creep up her cheeks, making her reluctantly okay with sitting next to Doctor Rorish.

 

“What is that?” She asks, pointing at the short glass in Leanne’s hand.

 

“What? Oh, this—is a Black Russian.”

 

“Is it good?”

 

“You’ve never had a Black Russian?”

 

“No, what’s in it.”

 

“Kahlua and Vodka. It’s good, try it.”

 

When Leanne tips the glass forward, Heather purposely looks for the nearly invisible mark of Leanne’s lips on the rim left behind with pale pinkish lipstick, and drinks there. She doesn’t know why exactly but it gives her a thrill to drink from where the older woman has, some sort imprinting or domineering, competitive thing, marking her territory or something, though which territory she is marking, Heather isn’t sure.

 

“Mmm, it’s good.”

 

Leanne orders two more Black Russians, not struggling even a little bit to get the bar tender’s attention once again. It’s here that Heather begins to find it funny that out of all places, this bar, this hipster infested little bar filled with ironic vintage décor, is the one Doctor Leanne “Daddy” Rorish decides to unwind in after a 48 hour shift.

 

“What are you doing here anyway?”

 

“What do you mean?” Leanne asks, turning a quizzical stare Heather’s way.

 

“Like, in this bar. It seems a little too, I don’t know, low brow for you.”

 

“Well, it’s not, I live a couple of blocks from here, I come here all the time.”

 

“No you don’t. You live in Silverlake?”

 

“I do. Just up the street.”

 

“I’m surprised. I always thought you’d live in some suburb somewhere, Studio City maybe.”

 

Leanne laughs, turning her body toward Heather, their knees gently bumping, “Do you know how long it would take to get to the hospital from Studio City in peak traffic hour?”

 

“True.”

 

Their drinks arrive with a friendly, “Here you go, Doc.” And a warm smile from the bar tender that Leanne barely acknowledges.

 

“Cute guy with the man-bun likes you.”

 

Leanne scoffs, fishes the straw out of her drink and shakes her head, “I’m a good tipper. Cheers.”

 

“Cheers.”

 

Their eyes meet again as they drink and Heather suddenly has a thought; Leanne Rorish is not wearing scrubs. She’s got a loosely fitting white tee on, and blue jeans, a pair of high heel boots—the chunky heel is especially attractive though Heather can’t really figure out why. She’s casual and comfortable, relaxed even.

 

“You look hot out of your scrubs.”

 

Leanne blinks a couple of times, her mouth in a small ‘O’ shape as she tries to make sense of the unexpected compliment.

 

“I mean, you know, in regular clothes not like—naked, though I’m sure that’s true too.”

 

Leanne stares back, expression unreadable, but definitely not resentful, which is fine by Heather.

 

She doesn’t shy away from her; in fact she appears a little responsive. She leans in closely, her breath smelling of sweetness from her drink, and husks, “Hitting on me isn’t going to get you favoritism.”

 

Heather’s smile appears slowly as she leans in even closer. “I didn’t think it would.”

 

“I’m not gay,” Leanne counters, playful glint in her eye now present.

 

“Neither am I. I guess I just have a thing for hot authority figures.”

 

 

 

 

 

Heather’s apartment is a few miles from the bar, definitely not as close as Leanne’s place, but she can understand why the older woman wouldn’t want this to happen in her home. Boundaries and whatnot.

 

They don’t say anything on the Uber ride there and Heather thinks Leanne might change her mind any minute, except she’s the one who reaches over and discreetly curves her hand over the younger woman’s leg, giving it a little squeeze before slipping higher up her dress to rake a nail across her inner thigh and graze one knuckle against her crotch.

 

Heather’s breath hitches and she then sends a murderous glare Leanne’s way when she abruptly pulls her hand away.

 

She lets out this low, throaty chuckle that Heather can practically feel inside her and she knows she’s considerably wetter than she was a minute ago.

 

“Are you okay?” Leanne asks, all concern, all show for the third human in the vehicle.

 

“Peachy.”

 

 

 

 

 

They make it inside Heather’s tiny apartment. There isn’t much to it. A tiny living room gives way to a tiny kitchen and a tiny bedroom. They get halfway inside when Leanne turns around and says, “Cute place.”

 

There’s something about the way she says it, or maybe it’s they she’s smirking like she knows everything, or maybe the way the dim streetlight that comes in through the window lights her face, but Heather is overcome with the need to fuck this woman into submission. Once she lunges forward and kisses her, backing her into the wall that separates the living room and kitchen, she realizes it could just be that she really, really wants to fuck her.

 

Her heels are about an in higher and this gives her about an inch of advantage over the other woman, so she works quickly, pinning her to the wall with her hips before pulling the white tee off so she can gain access to more skin. It’s soft and hot where she kisses Leanne, her neck, just bellow her chin, and her stomach is smooth against her own when she presses her harder against the wall, her thigh securely against Leanne’s crotch.

 

She can feel it through her dress and Leanne’s jeans—can feel her grinding slightly against her leg, shivering a little. Heather smiles, pulling back to get a good look at her, and she finds she isn’t disappointed by what she’s got; Leanne’s hair is tousled, her lips are swollen, eyes hooded with want, her chest is heaving and flushed.

 

“What do you want?” Heather asks, happy to see the other woman struggle to form any sort of response and settling for some type of keening sound before she pulls the younger woman closer and aims for a kiss that heather dodges. She peels Leanne’s hands from her body and pins then against the wall above her head. “ _No_ ,” she tells her sternly, “What do you want?”

 

Leanne’s biting her bottom lip, “What do you think I came here for?”

 

“You want me to fuck you, Daddy?”

 

Heather says this to bee cheeky, she’s trying to tease her a little, except Leanne’s eyes go dark and her breathing becomes more ragged and everything goes still, the air thick, and all Heather wants is to be inside her.

 

When Leanne finally speaks, her voice is low, “Fuck me.”

 

Heather drags Leanne to the bedroom, shoves her onto her bed and swiftly crawls over to straddle the older woman, having to push her down again by the shoulders after she’s pulled off her dress and Leanne’s sat up, reaching for her.

 

Heather kisses her, long and deep, licking the roof the other woman’s mouth before drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and nipping at it briefly, enjoying the way Leanne hisses and then moans as Heather trails down her neck and chest with her tongue. She palms both breasts at once, squeezing one as she kisses the other, sucking on the supple mounds, finding the nipples through the lace of her bra and pinching those until Leanne’s moaning and practically pulling Heather’s hair.

 

“Do that again,” Leanne requests sternly, breathless, and Heather watches her face as she pinches the nipples again, a little harder this time. She arches her neck and gasps, something that sounds like, “Yes.” And then Heather hears something more distinctly clear, “Your mouth. Please.”

 

She doesn’t have to be told twice. The front clasp undoes easily and while Heather would love to take the time to sit and stare and Leanne Rorish’s breasts, the need to make her make those sounds again is a lot more fervent and so she sucks one pebbled pink nipple into her mouth, sucking lightly and grazing her teeth against it, moaning when Leanne does because she almost can’t believe how good it feels to hear her do that. She moves to the other one, sucking as she did before while her hands work Leanne’s jeans open. Her breast leaves Heather’s mouth with a pop once she trails lower down Leanne’s torso, hopping off the bed to help her out her pants and shoes.

 

She stands at the foot of the bed for a moment, admiring Leanne’s full breasts rising and falling with every labored breath, stomach, hips, all shaped perfectly, the thin landing strip she didn’t expect but appreciates nonetheless. Leanne Rorish is a god damn beautiful woman.

 

“Show me,” Heather says.

 

Leanne smirks, slowly brings her feet up on the bed and spreads her legs.

 

“Very nice.”

 

“Come here.”

 

Heather goes.

 

Cradled between Leanne’s legs, she kisses the older woman again, slowly, teasingly, giving a little and then drawing back to make Leanne chase her mouth until the older woman grabs a handful of hair and holds her still, deepening the kiss, holding nothing back until Heather finds herself on her back, Leanne smiling wickedly above her. Heather wants to get her leverage back, make her say ‘please’ again, except Heather can’t really focus because Leanne’s teasing her open with her tongue and that does not leave much brain power to work with.

 

She’s forceful, the way she holds Heather’s thighs apart, a firm grip that will surely leave some sort of mark there, but her mouth—oh god, her mouth. Her tongue is every where, licking up and around, down, up around again, inside her, slowly then quickly, then slow again—her lips sucking in all the right places. She tugs the younger woman towards the edge and then pulls back, only to work her up again more intensely than before, over and over until Heather is whimpering, moaning and cursing Leanne’s name up at the ceiling, her entire body flushed and heated.

 

Lifting her head off the pillow, Heather sees Leanne’s hair fanned across her lap, can see her fingers digging into her thighs—she can’t take it anymore. Her hips begin to rock forward more desperately, but she’s not giving.

 

“Leanne—please—oh, fuck, you asshole,” and then Leanne slows everything down, one hand releasing Heather’s thigh. It happens all at once, she laps around her clit fucks her with two fingers and suddenly Heather can’t speak, can barely breathe as she comes, and keeps going for who knows how long, until she’s practically gasping, shaking.

 

“That’s a girl,” Leanne purrs from somewhere, dropping soothing kisses along Heather’s thighs, her stomach—by the time she reaches her breasts, Heather has somewhat come back to herself and when she opens her eyes and sees Leanne and that know-it-all grin of hers, her body stirs again and she realizes the older woman’s fingers are still inside her, moving slowly, first to help her ease down, but now she’s working her up again, pushing them in and dragging them out slowly, curving upwards to press before pushing them back inside.

 

“Oh, fuck…” Heather groans, in a moment Leanne is kissing her through another orgasm that leaves her limp. She can feel kisses on her shoulder, soothing caresses on her back, but not much else for a while. When she does regain her strength however, Leanne greets her with a smile and simple “hello”.

 

“Hello,” Heather replies, her voice a little hoarse but not lacking effect, “Get on your hands and knees.”

 

Leanne does and waits for Heather to kneel behind her to say, “Didn’t expect you to be so bossy.” She gasps when Heather smacks her right cheek, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet apartment.

 

Leanne chuckles, a little breathlessly, “Harder.” She grunts when the third smack lands and she lets her head hang forward while Heather fingers the red mark left there, trailing down until her middle finger is coated with Leanne’s arousal. The older woman moans.

 

Heather watches the way Leanne’s shoulders tense and relax every time her finger moves, notes the way she pushes her ass into her hand whenever she gets close to entering her but then doesn’t. She keeps that up for a little while, circling then slipping the pad of her finger upwards, completely avoiding the clit in favor of putting a little pressure against the mons—a taste of her own medicine.

 

She’s got faint tan lines, signs she actually does make it out to the beach once in a while. Picturing Leanne on the beach in a bikini makes her feel lightheaded—so instead, Heather presses her entire hand against her, until her palm is slick, and holds her firmly. Leanne moans and then gasps when Heather pulls her briskly by the hair.

 

“Is this what _Daddy_ wants?” Heather asks, pulling her hair harder, rubbing her cunt with more precision. That ridiculous nickname is finally coming in handy.

 

There’s a pause before Leanne lets out something like a whimpered, “Yes.”

 

And then Heather’s inside her. She’s fucking Leanne Rorish, telling her to spread her legs wider so she can add a third finger and she _does_ it, she fucking does it. She’s dropped down to her elbows, ass out, face in one of Heather’s pillows, muffling some pretty loud moans, and Heather cannot believe this is happening. She can’t believe it will happen again and decides she wants to remember all of it, wants to remember every bit of Leanne Rorish’s face when she is completely undone and begging for more—save that image for the next time she decides to yell at her in a full room. She stops mid way, tells her to turn over. She hovers over her when her fingers find their way inside Leanne again, this time watching her face shift in contort in the sexiest way every time she hits that _one_ spot. She wants to stretch it out for as long as possible, but she can’t help preferring to see her face when it finally hits her. That stoic, beautifully bitchy face…

 

Leanne closes her eyes, tilts her head back, lips parted in involuntary little moans, and her hand flies above her, fist clenched around a pillow as her hips begin to move faster when Heather’s hand moves harder—Heather herself panting, watching, mesmerized by what the older woman’s body is doing, by what she’s making her do.

 

Leanne gasps when she comes, curses a couple of times, and then groans Heather’s name, her back arching hips jerking a little, and then a few tremors before she finally shoves the younger woman’s hand away and sinks against the mattress.

 

Heather’s heart is racing and she can’t look away. She could definitely do this again.

 

But it’s apparently not happening again tonight because soon, Leanne is rolling over and climbing out of bed, combing her hand through her hair and then getting dressed like nothing happened. She smiles at heather while she’s putting on her shoes and Heather smiles back, head propped on her hand.

 

“Didn’t take you for the type to lay out in the sun.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“The tan lines.”

 

“Oh, I don’t really,” Leanne explains, spotting her keys on the floor, “I surf.”

 

Heather feels a twinge between her legs at this and seriously cannot believe her luck. “Oh, fuck you.”

 

Leanne offers a crooked smirk, checks her phone once and as she reaches the door, turns and says, “Maybe.”

 

Seconds later, the front door closes and instantly, Heather tries to work up a plan to “bury her hatchet” in Leanne Rorish again soon.


End file.
